When I lived in New Orleans, back around 1995, I was driving through the French Quarter on my way to a Danzig concert at the State Palace Theatre.
As usual, I was running late and driving a little too fast. I’m heading up Chartres Street towards Canal and this white utility van slams on its brakes right in front of me. So I tap my horn a couple times… utter a few choice words and wave my arms about. (Ahh the impatience of youth…)
The driver of the van is talking to some scruffy looking dude with curly hair, glasses, jeans and a gray sweatshirt. (Why do I remember this, you ask?)
I toot the horn some more. Ok technically I guess the term is “laying on the horn”, but anyway…
After about a minute or two (it seemed like an eternity… as I said, I was running late) the guy shook his hand and the van started to pull off.
So naturally, I floored it. I’m trying to get to the show and get a spot in the pit. Just as I’m starting to accelerate, the scruffy guy walks right out in front of me. I slam on the brakes, he slams his hands down on my hood and I yell at him… “you… stupid… F’ing… Eric Clapton?? Holy shit! Eric Clapton??”
He just kinda smiled, waved and continued across the street into the record store. I found out later he had a show that night also and was doing a brief appearance at Record Ron’s beforehand.
I remember thinking to myself… damn, I almost killed Eric Clapton. I didnt wash the hood of my car for a few months at least. (Not that this has anything to do with Clapton, mind you, I just had a dirty ass car.)